


The Sorrows of Young Hohenzollern: His Fall

by rowan_one



Category: Ao no Exorcist | Blue Exorcist
Genre: Angst, Demons, Devils, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Gen, Heavy Angst, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Mental Anguish
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-15
Updated: 2018-04-15
Packaged: 2019-04-23 00:51:47
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,359
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14320905
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rowan_one/pseuds/rowan_one
Summary: The Devil pushes and the Prince falls.





	The Sorrows of Young Hohenzollern: His Fall

**Author's Note:**

  * For [exorpriest](https://archiveofourown.org/users/exorpriest/gifts), [SuperiorDimwit](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SuperiorDimwit/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Between the End and the Beginning](https://archiveofourown.org/works/4676381) by [SuperiorDimwit](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SuperiorDimwit/pseuds/SuperiorDimwit). 



> This was something I had posted before, not sure why it isn't on my profile. It's a roleswap of sorts that once begun as a one off by SuperiorDimwit and I added on. It's chapter 11 of the linked work, please go give it a read.

The Hollenzollern Crown Prince was losing it. 

The nobles whispered among themselves, quiet murmurs which dropped to the shadowed floor and were kicked around as if rubbish or stones by their feet.

The servants said it in hushed, concerned tones to one another when they found his bedchambers locked up tight once more and screaming–screaming at people who were not there– at empty air– could be heard muffled beyond the heavy doors.

The Kaiser heard of it all, surely. His many advisors could write on the finest parchment and slide it over to him for his personal address. Things which would not be said aloud by any of those within the castle.

> He is not fit to be Kaiser!

> The eldest shall not claim the esteemed throne!

For so long he was tormented– played with– humiliated–

> Pass him over on the Crown to his brother as he himself once suggested when entangled in the dreams of fever!

For so long he had pushed– struggled– urged onwards–

> Too much pressure place upon one as young as he, it is really no wonder.

For so long he had worked like the geared automaton which the Devil himself had once shattered in the same manner It worked to shatter him.

> Clumsy.

For so long his gears were routinely wound: etiquette, geographical studies, dance, mathematics, penmanship, an instrument or two or twelve. Anything to impress. Anything to prove his worth.

> Inelegant.

And when a Meddler comes along to wind the Automaton’s gears too tightly.

> Unskilled. Untalented.

And so came crashing down the automaton dreams of one born–bred –raised for a sole purpose which was about to be taken from him forever.

> Hard work will get him nowhere if he simply turns into a blithering ninny!

And the Automaton wheezes harshly as the too fast gears grind themselves together. 

> He has been worse–haven’t you heard? Since that bout of…consumption.

And the cogs which once an smooth have a Devil crawling betwixt. 

> Consumption?! You don’t say? A working class disease from a Prince like him? A sign he was never fit at all, indeed.

The automaton does not what it does best but is made to do.

> Those fevered dreams and screams from which he cried for Prince Amaimon, you know, the younger son, to take the throne from him. See? Even he knows.

Even when the shrieking of the gears gnashing when they fail rings loudly– sharply– in his ears.

> Poor thing, have you seen how weak and frail he is already? A fever such as that must have done a number on him. No wonder he is even worse than before.

Even when he hears the muffled chortling– mocking– defamation– as a dark murmur in his ears below that. As it forces him awake in the dead of night with screams to match and rival.

> The Kaiser can never allow such shame to the Royal Line.

Even when the Devil need not lift a single finger more. The damage done, the Prince spurs it on himself now that he has slipped so deeply as to no longer contain his outbursts.

> Honestly, he really should have fallen to the illness that threatened him.

The Devil only need to enjoy the show of the clockwork piece which burns itself to uselessness.

> The Empire would be better off with the second son.

> Do not tarnish the seat with that boy’s name!

The servants hear him screaming at all hours behind locked doors he never leaves. They can make out “Shirou,” not a word of German, Latin, English, French, that he studies but what? He screeches dissolve to gibberish now, they say. His ‘condition’ worsens.

The Kaiser heeds to a degree, a doctor is called in for evaluations. His tutors and attendees are gathered for surveys and questioning.

The Prince has since stopped leaving his bedchambers. Lessons that cannot be held indoors are ceased. Only a few servants are given access. He is found alone and mumbling to an apparition which is not there even during times of sleep and study now. He jumps when people enter.

The doctor has trouble gaining entrance. And once the examination is over and he exits, he only sadly shakes his head.

His tantrums– his fits, they increase exponentially when the Crown is taken from him. His bedchambers become littered with his broken belongings. His defiance once sharp and cold as steel, fragments as though the metal had been tempered to embrittlement.

He stops screaming words, the gibberish ones or not, for a day.

Then falls silent.

All the while the Devil laughs and laughs and laughs beside him. 

_“Not to worry Mephi! Mephi, I know you hate that name. I bet you won’t be missin’ me anytime soon, my job may be done but the bosses don’t need to know that just yet. Now that you’ll have seventy years over seventeen, I just have to wait around until they find something boring for me to do. That means you and I can still have lots of fun together.”_

He lounges on the bed, tail off the edge and out of pulling range. He learnt better than that. 

_“Come on you sissy, I saved your life–not with any of your cooperation I might add–not much good your precious ‘birthright’ was gonna do ya when you were dead!”_

A clawed hand reaches out to grasp and shake the scrawny shoulder of the one who sat defeated on the other side of the large bed.

_“You still mad I took your first kiss like that? Your fault for having the disease in your lungs you know; that was the best way to get it out. And most fun. You know you ought to consider yourself sorta special, humans out in the German Empire–the one you won’t rule, you know, that one?–increasing by millions, and I choose you to spend my time with. Real special, for a shrimp. How about you get yourself all flustered again, huh? That last tantrum was so funny!”_

He smiles and winks as he says it, his other hand brought up in front of his ridiculous glasses (with crosses decorating them of all things!) to examine the long black claws there too.

_“Ya wanna use your new found freedom from the Crown and all that silly jazz to do somethin’ fun? Whatever it is young rich boys with all this time on their hands do. Write poetry or somethin’. After ya thank me, of course.”_

There is no answer, only the slightest shift in the bed as the other lifts his knees up to his chest, burying his face in his arms.

_“I guess it’ll be a while before your up and throwing things at **me**  again, huh Mephi? ’S okay; I can wait a bit. Maybe borrow a few books from the study or something. You won’t be needing to read them anymore or anything either, maybe I can destroy them?”_

The seventeen year old had once been a Prince, now downgraded to nothing but a human–no, he had been stripped similarly before, on that fateful, starless night which promised the hope of life and when the flames of dying dreams in his feverish eyes had given way to a fervent desire to live–once again had stained glass windows for eyes, as he had when the fever of consumption had taken hold and he had looked up at Shirou from his arms.

Dull, vacant, and once more with dignity leaking down to stain the red cheeks of the spoiled child. A voice worn and rusty from screaming wanted to eke out “Go away, Shirou.” but the words got caught in his throat.

They twisted sharply as a reminder that if he dismissed the other, he would truly be alone.

The boy remained still and silent in face of the Devil. Said nothing as a tail was wrapped around his ankle in mark of a chain.

Who was he kidding? Any dignity he had prior had been lost and washed away in the black waters of the fountain.

Maybe these were empty, shattered hopes and dreams running down instead.


End file.
